She fended him off with an imploring gesture. "I thought--I--it
was----"
She shut her lips tight, and stood looking at him where he remained in
silent amaze. Then her words came again, shudderingly. "Oh, what have
you done?"
"Upon my soul," he said, with a vague smile, "I don't know. I hope no
harm?"
"Oh, don't laugh!" she cried, laughing hysterically herself. "Unless
you want me to think you the greatest wretch in the world!"
"I?" he responded. "For heaven's sake tell me what you mean!"
"You know I can't tell you. Can you say--can you put your hand on your
heart and say that--you--say you never meant--that you meant me--all
along?"
"Yes!--yes! Who else? I came here to see your father, and to tell him
that I wished to tell you this--to ask him----But what does it matter?
You must have known it--you must have seen--and it's for you to answer
me. I've been abrupt, I know, and I've startled you; but if you love
me, you can forgive that to my loving you so long before I spoke."
She gazed at him with parted lips.
"Oh, mercy! What shall I do? If it's true--what you say--you must go!"
she said. "And you must never come any more. Do you promise that?"
"Certainly not," said the young man. "Why should I promise such a
thing--so abominably wrong? I could obey if you didn't love me----"
"Oh, I don't! Indeed I don't! Now will you obey."
"No. I don't believe you." "Oh!"
He possessed himself of her hand again.
"My love--my dearest! What is this trouble, that you can't tell it? It
can't be anything about yourself. If it is anything about any one
else, it wouldn't make the least difference in the world, no matter
what it was. I would be only too glad to show by any act or deed I
could that nothing could change me towards you."
"Oh, you don't understand!"
"No, I don't. You must tell me."
"I will never do that."
"Then I will stay here till your mother comes, and ask her what it is."
"Ask HER?"
"Yes! Do you think I will give you up till I know why I must?"
"You force me to it! Will you go if I tell you, and never let any human
creature know what you have said to me?"
"Not unless you give me leave."
"That will be never. Well, then----" She stopped, and made two or
three ineffectual efforts to begin again. "No, no! I can't. You must
go!"
"I will not go!"
"You said you--loved me. If you do, you will go."
He dropped the hands he had stretched towards her, and she hid her face
in her own.
"There!" she said, turning it suddenly upon him. "Sit down there. And
will you promise me--on your honour--not to speak--not to try to
persuade me--not to--touch me? You won't touch me?"
"I will obey you, Penelope."
"As if you were never to see me again? As if I were dying?"
"I will do what you say. But I shall see you again; and don't talk of
dying. This is the beginning of life----"
"No. It's the end," said the girl, resuming at last something of the
hoarse drawl which the tumult of her feeling had broken into those
half-articulate appeals. She sat down too, and lifted her face towards
him. "It's the end of life for me, because I know now that I must have
been playing false from the beginning. You don't know what I mean, and
I can never tell you. It isn't my secret--it's some one else's.
You--you must never come here again. I can't tell you why, and you
must never try to know. Do you promise?"
"You can forbid me. I must do what you say."
"I do forbid you, then. And you shall not think I am cruel----"
"How could I think that?"
"Oh, how hard you make it!"
Corey laughed for very despair. "Can I make it easier by disobeying
you?"
"I know I am talking crazily. But I'm not crazy."
"No, no," he said, with some wild notion of comforting her; "but try to
tell me this trouble! There is nothing under heaven--no calamity, no
sorrow--that I wouldn't gladly share with you, or take all upon myself
if I could!"
"I know! But this you can't. Oh, my----"
"Dearest! Wait! Think! Let me ask your mother--your father----"
She gave a cry.
"No! If you do that, you will make me hate you! Will you----"
The rattling of a latch-key was heard in the outer door.
"Promise!" cried Penelope.
"Oh, I promise!"
"Good-bye!" She suddenly flung her arms round his neck, and, pressing
her cheek tight against his, flashed out of the room by one door as her
father entered it by another.
Corey turned to him in a daze. "I--I called to speak with you--about a
matter----But it's so late now. I'll--I'll see you to-morrow."
"No time like the present," said Lapham, with a fierceness that did not
seem referable to Corey. He had his hat still on, and he glared at the
young man out of his blue eyes with a fire that something else must
have kindled there.
"I really can't now," said Corey weakly. "It will do quite as well
to-morrow. Good night, sir."
"Good night," answered Lapham abruptly, following him to the door, and
shutting it after him. "I think the devil must have got into pretty
much everybody to-night," he muttered, coming back to the room, where
he put down his hat. Then he went to the kitchen-stairs and called
down, "Hello, Alice! I want something to eat!"